Until Then

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Quinn

"Do you think it's true?" Nadia asks. Her little voice is hoarse and her eyes are fighting to shut. I rub the top of her hand and then slip her small fingers beneath my palm and give them a light squeeze.

"I think anything is possible. What about you?" I close the book I'd been reading to her and set it on the small stand beside her bed. The room is dark other than the tiny light shinning above her. She's afraid of the dark and I promised to stay in here while her mom ran down to grab dinner.

"I don't know. Mom says that God will take care of me and that Grandma is already there waiting." She sighs from exhaustion and her tiny seven-year-old body lifts as she inhales again. "I'd like to see Grandma again." Her smile is sweet as she gives in to closing her eyes.

I stand and release her hand so I can pull her covers up. She lifts her arms so that they will stay on top of the hospital sheets and make it easier for me to administer her pain medicine during the night. "I'd like to see my grandma again too."

"If I find her I'll tell her you miss her." Her tired blue eyes open and look into mine. "Maybe they know each other, my grandma and yours."

"Maybe." I smile down on her as I tuck the blankets tightly around her just as she likes.

"I see her sometimes," she whispers. Her eyes close again and I watch the lashes as they flutter quickly.

"Your grandma?" I ask turning on the small noise machine I brought in for her a few weeks ago when she told me the sound of the ocean helps her fall asleep. The crashing waves slowly build in the background. I sit on the edge of the bed in the large area of unused space beyond her feet. This hospital bed is big and the cancer has left her so small.

"Yes. I called her Nana." Her eyes open again slightly. I pull her nighttime medication from my scrub pocket and push it into her IV. "I see her sometimes at night when I wake up. Sometimes she's sitting beside me, but last night she was standing behind my mom, rubbing her head like my mom does to me sometimes when I can't sleep."

Nadia's story is similar to other stories I've heard from the children I take care of. I could never prove it of course, but I know in my heart that our loved ones come back for us. I try to blink away the tears I feel stinging my eyes. If she's seeing her grandmother, her time to leave this world is coming soon.

"Does she talk to you?" I whisper, watching her heart slow down on the monitor.

"No," she says as she yawns. I wonder how many of those tiny teeth will never fall out. It's just one more life experience she won't live to see through. "But I hope she will."

"Me too, Nadia."

"Do you think I'll get to come back? Like maybe when my mom needs a hug?" Her words make my throat close up with emotion. I don't have children of my own, but these kids come pretty close. I've seen her mother sleeping night after night in the bed next to hers, not wanting to waste one minute of what's left of her daughter's life away from her. I had to beg her to go get food for herself.

"I'm not sure, baby. But I'll tell you something, if you were my little girl I'd want you to run into that light until you were so far away from this disease and all the pain you couldn't feel it any longer. Your mom is a strong woman. She'll always miss you, but she'll be okay. I promise." I rub my hand softly across her forehead.

"Okay, Quinn," she says softly turning to her side as the medication begins to work. "Then you'll have to hug her for me."

"You've got it champ. I'll see you tomorrow." I stroke her head a few more times until her breathing evens out and I know she's at peace for at least an hour. I'll be back as soon as she's allowed to have another dose of the pain medication. I don't leave her room until her mother comes back, just like I promised.

When it gets this close nothing has to be said for the parents and I to know the child isn't ever to be alone. It's just something you can feel like an unspoken contract between us. I hug her mother and reassure her she is strong enough to handle this as I hand her a tissue form the box next to the sink. She only lets me see this vulnerability and doubt when Nadia is asleep. She'd never put the burden of her grief on her.

When I finally step out of the room I'm barely able to keep it together myself. I tell the charge nurse I'm taking my break. On this floor breaks are rarely questioned. Every one of us has our limit and watching kids suffer pushes us all to the end of it from time to time. I hit the large metal lever on the wall and watch as the two doors swing open.

In just a few steps I'm out of the children's wing and staring at the vending machine aimlessly. I hold the dollar bill in my hand and scan my options again, trying to pay better attention this time. The small hallway behind me is visible in the reflection on the glass separating me from about twenty bad decisions. I slide the dollar in and punch in my selection. A bag of M&M'S falls into the drawer and as I step back so I can bend down and retrieve them I catch the reflection of a Marine in uniform behind me.

When I turn around to see him I find the hallway completely empty. I look both ways just to be sure, and then I shake my head and grab my candy. I guess that's what happens when you're operating on a few hours of restless sleep and candy for dinner.

I sit in a chair in the family waiting room and eat my snack. When the last person leaves, I put my feet up on the table and let my body sink down into the seat. I stare up at the bright florescent light glowing above me and wonder if Nadia's grandma will visit her tonight, then I wonder how much time I have before my grandma comes to visit me. 

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